


It's Like, The Tinder Of Cuddling

by stevergrsno (noxlunate)



Series: Happy Steve Bingo Fills [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Asexual Steve Rogers, Cuddling & Snuggling, Happy Steve Bingo, Kissing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-09
Updated: 2018-09-09
Packaged: 2019-07-10 06:24:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15943598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noxlunate/pseuds/stevergrsno
Summary: “Hi.” He says instead of‘you are the most aesthetically pleasing human I’ve ever seen, please let me hold your hand.’because that would be weird. Also he might possibly get to hold Bucky’s hand without having to say anything embarrassing, so y’know, he might as well just avoid that.“Glad to know you’re not a big burly serial killer hiding beneath the pictures of a Williamsburg hipster.” Is what Bucky apparently seems to think is a proper greeting.Steve’s weirdly charmed.In which Steve joins a site dedicated to cuddle matchmaking, meets Bucky, and not entirely platonic snuggling ensues.





	It's Like, The Tinder Of Cuddling

**Author's Note:**

> Yooo here's my fill for the "cuddling" square for the Happy Steve Bingo! Enjoy!

_‘Need a cuddle? Are you longing to cuddle with no further expectations? We’ll find you a cuddle buddy! Join thousands of users just like you!’_

Steve stares blankly at the flyer that’s been shoved into his hapless hands. He looks around, not even sure of where the hell it came from, the crowd heading towards the subway swelling around him.

He should throw it away, really, he should, but he finds himself shoving it into his pocket while he boards the subway without thinking about it.

By the time the train reaches his stop it’s well out of his mind, the crumpled flier still in his pocket when he shucks off his jeans and face plants into the warm comfort of his bed.

 

Three days later Nat descends on his apartment and starts her Ritual Of Nosiness. Steve allows it so long as she follows the basic rules of _‘No Snooping In The Bedside Table Natasha, Seriously You Don’t Want To See What’s In There.’_

She’s dug through the drawers in his kitchen and tsked at the new take out menus there, discovered the two new subscriptions on his Amazon Prime account, run her fingers over the edges of Steve’s newest painting, and insisted there’s tumbleweeds in his kitchen cabinets by the time she reaches the designated bedroom area of Steve’s shoebox studio apartment.

“Rogers, your life is sad.” She says as she flops forward onto his bed and then levers half of it off to reach Steve’s abandoned laundry. Steve would complain about her perpetual snooping through his pockets, but she’s saved some important things from being put through the laundry when Steve inevitably forgets to go through it first.

“My life isn’t _sad.”_ Steve insists, settling on the end of the bed and watching as Natasha empties the pockets, tossing receipts and random papers and any other trash into a pile and everything important into another.

“The highlight of your life is when I come over, Steve, that’s _sad.”_ Natasha says and then, to Steve’s horror, makes an interested noise as she smooths out a bright blue piece of paper. Within moments she has Steve’s phone and is looking something up before making a _delighted_ noise.

This isn’t going to go well. Natasha delighted never goes well for Steve. He’s known this since the tender age of eight.

“It’s the tinder of cuddling.” She says, typing something into Steve’s phone rapidly and jerking it away when Steve attempts to see over her shoulder. “This is perfect for you, _perfect.”_

Steve likes Natasha claiming something is perfect for him even less than he likes Natasha’s delighted noises. The last time Natasha claimed something was perfect for Steve he’d ended up stuck in Connecticut for three days. He’s not exactly dying for a repeat performance.

“I’m not sure how I feel about that.” Steve says, attempting to look mostly unbothered. It’s like a wild animal, you can’t let her smell your fear.

“Would you like to cuddle with a man, a woman, or anyone?” She asks, ignoring Steve’s not-quite-protests. “Wait, no, don’t answer that. Men, definitely. You want to be spooned, I can tell.”

Steve finally shoves his way into Natasha’s space to see what the hell she’s doing and - “Are you signing me up for a _dating site?”_

“Of course not. The time I convinced you to try bumble went terrible. This is a _cuddling friendship site.”_ Natasha says and Steve isn’t sure he sees a difference. Sure it’s marketed as different, but Steve’s never met a dating site that wasn’t really just for people to find a quick hookup and Steve, well, he just _can’t do that._ He’s not wired that way.

“I don’t think that’s a thing.” Steve says instead.

“Just try it out Rogers. You act like a feral touch starved cat when I pet your hair on movie nights, you need a good cuddle.”

“Yeah, sure, okay.” Steve agrees mostly to make Nat stop and fully intends to never look at the site again.

 

He lasts less than four hours after Nat leaves. It’s too tempting, the lure of physical affection without any expectations for something that Steve can’t and won’t give. He has to see if it’s serious.

It seems serious. Or at least it seems mostly serious. There’s people who are obviously there for something more, but there’s also people that seem like they want what Steve wants.

He doesn’t message anyone. Instead he checks out a couple profiles and then throws his phone aside and forces himself to sleep. He can’t be taking this seriously. He _can’t._

 

He wakes up to what feels like a million notifications from the cuddling site.

Steve blinks at them for several moments before he stumbles blindly to his kitchen and slams the button to start the coffee maker because yeah, caffeine is definitely needed to deal with this kind of thing.

Once he’s properly caffeinated it’s a little easier to sort them, and he skips past a lot more of the messages than he bothers responding to. The important thing though, is that he _does_ respond to some.

Or. Well. He responds to _one._

 _Soldat91_ has a picture of himself holding a cat and his first message to Steve consists of _‘Not sure that counts as a profile picture but jesus, you're good.’_

 _‘It's a self portrait.’_ Steve sends back, and then tacks on a couple laughing face emojis.

_‘No offense man but here's hoping it's not particularly accurate’_

The picture in question definitely isn't an actual self portrait. It’s one Natasha took before Steve’s first ever legitimate gallery showing, and Steve’s holding one of the paintings up over his face. It’s a mess of bright blues and sharp, vivid reds layered over each other, bold black lines crossing over each other and intersecting in jagged lines across the canvas.

Steve, on an impulse, pulls up his camera app and snaps a quick photo of himself, glasses and bed head and all, then sends it with a _‘See the resemblance?’_

 _‘It’s almost uncanny’_ Is the response he gets back and he doesn’t even try to resist the urge to laugh.

 

Steve isn’t _nervous_ and he’s especially not nervous for what Natasha keeps calling his cuddle date. He’s just never done this before, that’s all. It’s perfectly normal to feel not nervous but maybe _apprehensive_ about meeting a total stranger to watch a movie and snuggle.

They’d both agreed that they’d be more comfortable doing this in a public place instead of meeting at either one’s house, which means they’re meeting at the theater. It’d seemed like a good idea at the time, but now Steve’s hyper focused on how much it seems like a traditional date..

When Bucky finally shows up, Steve is perched on a bench outside the theater and feels like he’s been waiting forever, even if Bucky’s _technically_ early. It’s not exactly his fault that Steve showed up more than a half hour early because of nerves.

Steve doesn’t stare, he _doesn’t,_ but he does take a brief moment to take in the sight of Bucky, the literal definition of _tall, dark, and handsome_ and wonder what the hell he’s doing on a the cuddling equivalent of _tinder._

“Hi.” He says instead of _‘you are the most aesthetically pleasing human I’ve ever seen, please let me hold your hand.’_ because that would be weird. Also he might possibly get to hold Bucky’s hand without having to say anything embarrassing, so y’know, he might as well just avoid that.

“Glad to know you’re not a big burly serial killer hiding beneath the pictures of a Williamsburg hipster.” Is what Bucky apparently seems to think is a proper greeting.

Steve’s weirdly charmed.

“I live in Flatbush.” Steve says, forcing his eyes wide with horror beneath his glasses like he’s been mortally offended.

“No shit? Me too.” Bucky says, throwing an arm over Steve’s shoulder and leading the way into the theater.

 

They see something that involves a lot of explosions and a beginning that Steve mostly misses due to the fact that he spends the first twenty minutes hyper focused on Bucky Barnes and his right arm where it’s draped over Steve’s shoulder.

His thumb is sweeping back and forth over Steve’s shoulder, and the side of his head resting gently against Steve’s where he’d eventually relaxed enough to rest his head against Bucky’s chest, the arm of the theater seat up and out of the way so that they’re pressed together.

It’s _nice._

It’s really fucking nice, and Steve hasn’t done this in a long time. He’d like to claim it’s because he’s too busy to find anyone to do it with, but mostly he’s just been avoiding the kind of relationships that lead to easy affection like this. In his experience they tend to come with expectations. Ones that Steve rapidly ends up failing to meet.

Steve doesn’t pay much attention to the movie, but he thinks that’s okay, because really, the movie was just a test run to answer the question of ‘Do Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers enjoy snuggling with each other?’

The answer is a pretty solid _hell yeah,_ and Steve thinks Bucky agrees when after, when Steve is stretching and wincing at the cracking of his joints in the sudden light of the theater, he says “Hey, you wanna like, go get some dinner or something?”

 

Bucky texts. Bucky texts _a lot._ And Steve, well, Steve starts to get used to it.

It’s nothing huge. It’s not like they’re sitting there spilling every feeling they’ve ever had out to each other throughout their days, but Steve knows that nine times out of ten he’s going to pick up his phone and find a picture of Bucky’s shopping cart at Trader Joe’s, or some line about the weirdest thing Bucky’s seen on the subway that day, or any number of inconsequential things that seem to make up the life of Bucky Barnes.

Steve likes it. Steve _really_ likes it.

He shares just as much, finds himself picking up his phone to take a picture of two different take out menus so that he can send it off with _‘Quick, help me decide. Matter of life and death.’_ Sometimes he sends off pictures of whatever art piece he’s working on because being told _‘I can’t say I know jackshit about art, but I like it,’_ is strangely comforting when he’s been staring at the same canvas for hours and has convinced himself that despite making an honest to God living from his art, he is in fact a complete fraud.

Occasionally, the texts he receives from Bucky consist of things like _‘got the day off wanna binge watch like 12 hours of tv on my couch?’_ or _‘a new hipster paradise showed up a block over and you’ll fit in great, wanna go?’_ And Steve will get to make the trek to Bucky’s apartment, or to whichever random place Bucky’s found and he’ll get to spend the evening tucked under Bucky’s arm, enjoying the closeness.

Steve thinks he likes those texts the very best.

 

“So, you’re doing tinder?” Clint asks as he throws himself into a seat and makes grabby hands for one of the menus.

Steve sighs, passes over a menu, and contemplates drinking to deal with the questions. He loves his friends though, even when they’re nosy, and his immune system isn’t all that fond of alcohol.

“I’m not doing tinder. It’s just,” He waves a hand vaguely and huffs a little, “It’s a cuddling site. For people who want to cuddle with other people. It’s, y’know, nice.”

“Right. Right. So the tinder of cuddling.” Clint says agreeably.

“Yeah, sure.” Steve agrees with a sigh, because there’s no way he will ever be able to convince any of his friends to call it anything but The Tinder of Cuddling. It’s a futile effort.

 

“Rogers,” Bucky says the first time he comes over to Steve’s place, popping his head out of Steve’s tiny kitchen and holding a bottle of water, “Do you not eat real people food or something?”

Steve’s response is a perfectly eloquent “Huh?”

“You have eight million drinks and three different kinds of takeout.” Bucky says like that’s any sort of explanation.  

“Take out _is_ real food.”

Bucky stares at Steve like he can’t quite believe what he’s hearing, then turns and heads towards the door. “We’re going to the grocery store.”

“Why?” Steve asks, even as he’s getting to his feet and grabbing his wallet and keys.

“Because I’m going to cook and you’re going to realize just how much take out isn’t real food.”

 

After a ridiculously long trip to Trader Joe’s in which Bucky points to about a dozen things and says _“Look Steve, that’s real food, bet you’ve never had one of those before!”_ like an asshole, they make their way up the six flights of stairs to Steve’s apartment where Bucky proceeds to take over Steve’s kitchen.

Steve has been relegated to ‘sitting there and looking pretty’ because apparently Bucky doesn’t trust him to be involved with the cooking process.

“You’ve got the air of someone that can’t cook box macaroni and cheese.” Bucky had said, entirely serious, and Steve had frowned at him when he couldn’t exactly argue the point.

“I’m pretty sure having my kitchen forcibly stolen from me wasn’t in the terms and conditions of the website.” Steve says, perched on the counter with a sketchpad propped on his knee, absently sketching out something that’s starting to take the shape of Bucky in his kitchen.

“I’m doing you a favor, Rogers.” Bucky insists, chopping vegetables with a precision that’s honestly a little scary. “Your body already seems to be actively fighting against you, I’m pretty sure you eating like shit can’t be helping.”

“Yes mom.” Steve snarks and reaches out to steal a piece of carrot, making a wounded noise when Bucky waves the knife at him threateningly.

“Did no one teach you not to put your fingers near a currently moving knife? Jesus, how are you still alive and with all your fingers?”

“Dumb luck probably.” Steve says and pops the carrot into his mouth, unrepentant.

 

Steve doesn’t want to admit it, but Bucky’s cooking is possibly one of the best things he’s eaten in a long time. Possibly since before his ma died, but definitely since Sam went and moved to DC.  

“I told you I’d ruin take out forever.” Bucky says, insufferably smug while Steve’s chasing the last bits of chicken and sauce around his plate.

“It’s the worst thing I’ve ever eaten.” Steve insists, even as he’s reaching across the table to steal a brussel sprout off of Bucky’s plate. Steve doesn’t even _like_ brussel sprouts, or at least he’d thought he didn’t, but Bucky had done _something_ to them that had resulted in crispy deliciousness.

“Right, guess you’re not gonna want any more then.” Bucky says, dragging the plate out of Steve’s reach because he’s a dirty rotten cheater.

“Nope, not at all. I wouldn’t want those if they were the last thing on earth.” Steve says solemnly, giving it a moment before he’s up and out of his chair, making a break for the kitchen and the rest of the food with Bucky giving chase.

 

Steve ends up caught quickly, but when that leads to Bucky manhandling him onto the couch with Steve tucked into his side and the newest season of GLOW playing on his tv, it doesn’t seem like a bad thing.  

 

They’re at the movies to top off a long day of running around when Nat appears out of nowhere and nearly gives Steve a heart attack.

“I have a bum heart. You’re gonna be the death of me.” Steve says, clutching his chest while his heart rate comes down to a slightly safer speed and Natasha looks absolutely unrepentant.

“You attempt to get yourself killed on a near regular basis, I’m pretty sure I’m just hastening the inevitable.”

“You know Natasha?” Bucky asks, cutting off what Steve was determined would be a _scathing_ remark, looking between the two of them.

 _"You_ know Nat?” Steve says and then turns to Nat, “You know _Bucky?”_

Bucky not telling Steve he knows someone that he didn’t even know Steve knew definitely isn’t the issue here. However, Natasha is well aware that Steve knows Bucky, has even seen his damn picture.

“I know a lot of people.”

“We met years ago when we took the same Russian Lit class.” Bucky says and looks quietly smug when Nat’s mouth twists into something displeased over Bucky ruining her air of mystery.

Steve’s smile is less quietly smug and is definitely more on the Broadcasting His Smugness For The World To See side of things.

Natasha kicks him in the shin when she sees his expression. Steve kicks back. Bucky looks like this is is better than anything netflix has to offer.

Steve gives Nat a look that’s supposed to convey _‘Why didn’t you tell me?!’_

Natasha shrugs one shoulder in a way that Steve knows means _‘It was more fun my way.’_

Bucky breaks into their silent communication by saying “So, since I’ve shared my side, how do you two know each other?”

“We were seven and Nat pegged me in the head with a dodgeball.” Steve says with all the gravitas that he’d give an epic tale.

“On the playground it’s kill or be killed.” Natasha says, eyes wide and haunted like she’s seen war instead of their elementary school P.E. class.

“And since Nat was new and still mostly spoke Russian, she was taking the kill option.”

“And then, because Steve didn’t understand the rules of the playground, he kicked Bobby Donahue in the balls for making fun of my lunch.” Natasha says, fond and exasperated.

“We’ve been friends ever since. Unfortunately.” Steve finishes, just as fond and exasperated.

“Somehow, knowing the both of you, I expected something a lot more weird.” Bucky says, looking almost a little disappointed at the normalcy of what basically boils down to _‘We met in grade school.’_

“The weirdness comes later.” Steve says with a shrug.

“Like when we adopted Clint.” Natasha says proudly.

“We didn’t adopt Clint. You’ve gotta stop telling people we _adopted_ Clint.”

“We found him in the woods. He’s ours. Thus, we adopted him.”

“You found him in the woods?” Bucky asks and Steve gently jabs at the side of Bucky’s jaw until the confused wrinkle in the middle of his forehead leaves.

“He was running away from a group home, I think. It’s a long story. We were like nine years old.”

“He was going to join the circus.” Natasha says with a serious nod and Steve gives up on ever making this sound any sort of normal with Natasha around.

“Right. I’m assuming this is why you say it’s a long story.” Bucky says, looking at Natasha like he’s just now realizing how weird she is. Steve understands. She can fool people in small doses, but if you dig even a little bit deeper it’s impossible not to realize she’s a goddamn weirdo.

Steve loves her a lot.

“You wanna come watch the movie with us?” Steve blurts, feeling far too happy with Bucky’s arm a comfortable weight around his shoulders and Natasha there in front of him.

Natasha takes a moment to answer, her eyes flitting to Bucky as though judging how he feels about her crashing their not-date, and then she nods once, nice and sharp. “You’re buying me popcorn though. And Junior Mints.”

“You drive a hard bargain, but I’m down.” Bucky says and Steve wants to squeeze him tight so he does.

 

The movie is incredibly stupid and if Steve had seen it by himself he’d have deemed it a waste of ten bucks. Steve’s pretty sure that two hours spent tucked into Bucky’s side with Natasha’s legs hooked over the armrest next to him and her feet in Steve’s lap, listening to the two of them imitate the characters on screen in increasingly fake accents and trying to throw popcorn into each other’s mouths while a woman two aisles behind them’s sighs turn louder and louder by the minute is worth a lot more than that.

 

“Listen, I’m not saying you’re wrong, but you’re definitely wrong.” Bucky tells Natasha a few hours later while they’re camped out on Steve’s couch eating shitty Thai delivery and attempting to watch something weird with a lot of overly saturated shots and subtitles that Natasha insists is amazing.

“And I’m not saying you were dropped on your head as an infant,” Natasha says, shoving a bite of pad kee mao into her mouth and talking around it, “But you might want to ask your mom if you should be getting checked on regularly for that head injury you clearly have.”

Steve’s not entirely sure what they’re arguing about, which he’s going to blame on the fact that he’d been hurting enough on the walk home from the subway that even he couldn’t hide it and Natasha had disappeared into Steve’s cabinets and come back with a handful of pills that she’d practically shoved down his throat. They inevitably make the world fuzzy, so Steve thinks he can be excused from paying too much attention to anything other than the play of bright lights on the tv and the steady rise and fall of Bucky’s chest beneath Steve’s cheek.

The world drifts for awhile and then Steve’s being pushed back gently, Bucky’s face warm and concerned in front of his.

“How ya doin pal?” Bucky asks and Steve can feel the concern radiating off of him, has to remind himself that Bucky isn’t used to Steve’s faulty body the way that Natasha is.

“I’m alright.” Steve tries to reassure, and he can practically feel Natasha rolling her eyes on the other side of him.

“He’d say he was fine while bleeding out.” She says and yeah, she’s definitely rolling her eyes, Steve doesn’t even have to look at her to know it. He can hear it in her voice. “This is pretty within the realms of normal though. He’s been worse.” She concedes after a moment of Steve twisting around to narrow his eyes at her.

“You have work early tomorrow, right?” Steve asks, changing the subject the best way he knows how.

“Yeah. Yeah, I do.” Bucky agrees softly, giving Steve a look that says he knows exactly what Steve’s up to. “I should probably head home, get some shut eye. Try not to martyr yourself while I’m gone, huh?”

“I make no promises.”

“If you do, we’re having words Rogers. A lot of ‘em.” Bucky warns, even as he tugs Steve in close and hugs him tight.

“Yeah, yeah, promises promises. Now get out of my house, Barnes.” Steve says and after a few more words between the three of them, Bucky listens and takes his leave.

Natasha stays exactly where she is, only moving to spread out until she’s taken up an inordinate amount of Steve’s couch.

“He makes you happy.” She says, snagging an almost empty box off the table and stabbing at a piece of noodle with her plastic fork. “You two are cute together.”

“That’s not what this is. We aren’t together.” Steve says, frowning. “That’s not how this works.”

“Right, right. The Tinder of Cuddling isn’t for dating, it’s only for brotastic snuggles without any romantic affection allowed.” Natasha says, her tone all sarcasm and disbelief even as she’s being disgusting and talking around a mouthful of food. “It doesn't matter that you two are already pretty much dating, this is all _totally_ platonic.”

“It _is.”_ Steve insists, fighting through the film that seems to cover everything when he takes his pain meds. Trust Natasha to bring this kind of thing up when Steve doesn’t have all his wits about him. “That’s the whole point of this. Affection and friendship without anything more. It’s the whole damn mission of the site.”

Natasha just _looks_ at him, eyes narrowed and lips pursed slightly like she’s trying to figure something out, examining Steve to see what makes him tick. Finally, she leans back in her spot and jabs a finger at him.

“You _like_ him.”

“No shit.” Steve says because he _does._ There’s no not liking him. Bucky Barnes is pretty much everything Steve likes in a romantic partner, and he gives the best damn hugs that Steve’s ever been a part of.

“Then communicate like goddamn adults, because he sure as shit likes you too even though only God knows why.”

“You’re an awful friend, you know that right?”

“Liar. I’m the best thing to ever happen to you. You’d be lost without me.”

Steve can’t even argue that.

 

Steve shows up at Bucky’s apartment two days later with a stack of pizza boxes from the place Bucky insists is _the best pizza ever_ but that also happens to be on the opposite side of Brooklyn and therefore outside the realm of where either of them is willing to go.

Steve has the firm belief that if everything he needs is within a five block radius then there’s really no reason to go beyond that very often. In this case, there’s a reason.

The reason being Bucky’s eyes lighting up at the sight of the pizza and the noises he makes when he nabs a slice straight out of the box and eats half of it while Steve’s still standing in his doorway.

“What’s the occasion?” Bucky asks as he drags Steve into his apartment and takes the pizza boxes, dumping them onto the coffee table.

“I’m buttering you up.” Steve says seriously, picking his pizza apart and eating it bit by bit.

Bucky’s eyes have gone narrow, the look he’s giving Steve incredibly reminiscent of the one Natasha gives him when she’s figuring something out that he doesn’t want her to.

“You’re nervous.”

“A bit.”

_"Why?”_

And Bucky, he just sounds so damn concerned that Steve can’t even remember how he wanted to do this, instead he just blurts it out.

“I want to date you.”

“Huh?” Bucky says, which is not the reaction Steve had been hoping for, but he can work with it.

“I like you. Y’know, romantically. And I know the whole point of how we met was that there wouldn’t be anything more involved, but I _like you,_ and I want to be with you and if you don’t want that I’m not gonna like- be weird y’know? Feel free to let me down easy, but I thought I should just-”

_"Steve.”_

“Yeah?”

“You’re an idiot.”

“That’s pretty much the opposite of letting me down easy, Buck.”

“Are you okay with me kissing you?”

 _“What?”_ Steve asks, because this conversation has already careened wildly off of the track Steve had thought it would take.

“Can I kiss you Steve?”

And Steve, well, he’s got some complicated feelings when it comes to sex, but he’s never had any doubts about kissing so he grabs the front of Bucky’s shirt and drags him down to kiss him before Bucky can do it himself.

Steve hasn’t kissed what he’d consider a lot of people, but he’s kissed enough to know that kissing Bucky is _different._ Bucky kisses like Steve is important, one hand curled into the back of Steve’s shirt and the other coming up to cradle Steve’s jaw like he’s something precious, every soft brush of his lips making Steve’s heart feel too big in his chest.

When they pull back, he smiles at Steve like Steve has just given him a gift and Steve can’t seem to do anything but smile helplessly back.

“Look, when I joined that stupid site I’d just come out the other side of the long, fiery death of a relationship that probably went on for way too long. I wasn’t used to having to sleep alone, or, fuck, even eating and watching movies by myself. I was a wreck Steve, just a total fucking hot mess of a human being who had entered the ‘every relationship is doomed, why even try?’ mode.”

“And now?”

“And now I’m pretty sure past me was a fucking idiot.”

“I mean, you are a pretty big idiot.” Steve says with a slow grin, scratching at the back of Bucky’s neck absently. “It’s a good thing you turned out pretty.”

“I get by on my looks alone, it’s true.” Bucky agrees, his smile matching Steve’s in a way that makes it impossible for Steve to do absolutely anything other than kiss the expression off of him.

“Nat wrote my profile for me.” Steve says when he pulls back again, “But everything on it was true.”

“O-kay.” Bucky says slowly, his thumb sweeping in an arc along Steve’s jaw, eyebrows coming together in clear confusion. “What does that have to do with anything.”

“The sexuality part? It doesn’t like, it doesn’t change just because I get into a relationship.”

“Okay, neither does mine.”

“There’s a big difference between being gay and being asexual, Buck.”

“Sure, of course there is, but you want to be with me right? Want to keep doing all the shit we’ve been doing, but add in some kissing and sleeping together-” Steve opens his mouth to interrupt but Bucky keeps going before he can, “And by sleeping together, I mean in the most literal of ways, though I should warn you I’m a clingy bastard in my sleep so you’re likely to be aggressively spooned. If you can’t handle that you should probably let me know now.”  

“I think I can handle that.”

“Good, then I’m pretty sure I can handle a relationship where my dick doesn’t get involved.”

“Pretty sure?”

“Incredibly sure. I like you Rogers. You’re just gonna have to deal with it.”  

 

_Five Years Later_

Steve is endlessly grateful for the fact that he can make his living with his art, but gallery shows are the absolute worst. He’s expected to mingle, to talk with people who imagine themselves as patrons of the arts, and hipsters in manbuns who inevitably use terms that Steve hasn’t even thought about since art school.

On the bright side, gallery shows get Bucky into sharp suits and Steve gets to watch him mingle and be charming. He pretends to know what he’s talking about incredibly well, and old ladies with too much money _love_ him.

“Excuse me ma’am, I’ve gotta steal the artist for a minute.” Bucky says as he grabs Steve from behind, tugging him backwards. Steve’s sure he’s flashing his most charming, apologetic smile to the woman who has already offered Steve a near mind boggling amount of money for an original piece.

“Some people have too much money.” Steve says softly, in awe, once Bucky’s herded him into a deserted corner, away from the crowds mingling and drinking.

“They do.” Bucky agrees, hands sliding beneath Steve’s jacket and pressing warm and comforting against his back. “That’s why you should let them give it all to us. Fulfill my dream of being a kept man Stevie.”

“I’m working on it.” Steve says, arms sliding up around Bucky’s shoulders, head tipping forward until his forehead is pressed into Bucky’s chest. “Can’t deny you of all your hopes and dreams, now can I?”

“It’d be pretty impossible considering you’re my hopes and dreams.”

“Ugh. Gross. I’m breaking up with you if you’re going to be gross.”

“You say that, and yet you never follow through. I’m starting to think you’re not going to.”

“We’ve got a lease, shared friends we’d have to divy up, it’d be too complicated. Might as well just stay together.”

“Oh yeah, that’s the only reason.”

“I can’t think of any others. Definitely not the fact that I like you.”

“Yeah, you _just_ like me Steve?”

“Yep, just a casual infatuation.”

“Mmmh, I should remember that, considering you promised to casually like me til death do us part.”

“I wouldn’t want you to get the wrong impression.”

“ _There_ you two are,” Nat’s voice interrupts as she grabs hold of them by the biceps and drags them from their corner, “Come on, people are here to mingle with you Steve, so stop being disgusting and come mingle.”

“Listen to the lady Steve, go mingle.”

“You’re supposed to defend me.”

“From her? She’s terrifying.”

“You’re a terrible husband and I demand the right to be the big spoon tonight to make up for this grievous betrayal.”

“So demanding. Sure, you can be the big spoon. Now _go,_ entertain your subjects.” And with one last kiss, Bucky is shoving him forward at the same time Natasha drags him off to his fate.  

 

“You and your husband are adorable,” A woman wearing enough diamonds to fund a small country tells Steve, “How did you meet?”

Steve pastes on his best _I’m an artist and I don’t hate mingling, no not at all, questions about my personal life couldn’t possibly make me uncomfortable_ smile and says “Tinder.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> If you wanna come scream about Marvel and other things with me, come check my tumblr out [here!](http://stevergrsno.tumblr.com/post/177911075746/its-like-the-tinder-of-cuddling-noxlunate)


End file.
